


Watching

by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Crochet, Get Together, M/M, cameos by Yakov and Mila
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 06:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10916136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion
Summary: Otabek gets chilly in Russia; Yuri helps him warm up.





	Watching

Otabek is used to the cold of a skating rink, but the cold of a skating rink plus the cold of a Russian winter has him shivering and rubbing his hands together through most of a morning's practice.

"I KNOW THAT IS NOT WHERE YOUR ARMS SHOULD BE!" Yakov yells from across the rink as Otabek lands a triple axel and blows on his hands before he moves into a step sequence.

"Sorry!" Otabek calls in return. He does a lap around the rink, preparing himself to land the jump again with his arms properly positioned this time. He lands with his arms out, palms up, and spares Yakov a glance to see his approving nod.

He makes note of the nod to tease Yuri with later. Yakov is as brash and loud with Otabek as he is with his other skaters, but Otabek is the only one who doesn't talk back. His coach would have him by the ear, dragging him to his mother so they could yell at him in unison about his manners if he ever sassed like the Russians did. Yuri had wondered aloud if it was a cultural difference. Otabek had argued it was simply one of personality. He argues when he needs to, but he's just not the type to smart mouth someone whose authority he respects.

"Good, good," Yakov says, waving Otabek over. "Your step sequence is improving, but watch your ankles. They twist in too far."

"Yes, Sir," Otabek says. He feels his sweat cooling on his scalp and shivers. 

"Go. Put on a jacket," Yakov says, looking amused and sympathetic. "Find better gloves."

Otabek can't help the small laugh that escapes him. How cold must he look, he wonders, if Yakov is doing his version of coddling? He steps off the ice, puts on his blade guards, and walks to the bench where his bag is set. His training jacket is lying on top of it, and he slips it on. Underneath it, there's a small package wrapped sloppily in a sheet of newspaper. There's a note scribbled on it in Yuri's handwriting.

_You're making us all flinch._

Otabek unwraps the newspaper and finds a pair of fingerless gloves, soft and dark blue. He slides them on and isn't surprised they fit well. They end at mid-finger, and he smiles as he flexes his hands.

"Oooh!" Mila says as she approaches her own bag, a bench over from Otabek's. "Did Yura make those?"

"I don't know," Otabek says, though he looks closer now and knows, somehow, that they're handmade. "Does he knit?"

"Crochets," Mila corrects. "I tried to teach him to knit, and he nearly took his eye out."

"HAG!" Yuri shouts from about three feet behind Otabek. Otabek, very used to Yuri after two years of friendship, doesn't even jump.

"You gave yourself a black eye," Mila replies, as unimpressed as Otabek. She throws off a cheery wave and walks away, her cell in one hand.

"I bruised myself. Slightly," Yuri says when Otabek turns to face him. "You like them?"

"Yes," Otabek says. He looks at them again and runs his thumb over the yarn. "Are they wool?"

 

"Wool and alpaca. That's why they're soft. The alpaca." Yuri cocks his head. "I should make you a hat, too."

"You don't need to."

"I saw you shivering when you were talking to Yakov."

Otabek can't help his smile, not around Yuri. "You were watching me?" It comes out softer than he means, a tease he's never tried with Yuri.

Yuri looks away, his cheeks pinking. A few months ago, he'd sent Otabek a flurry of texts. Call him. Don't call him. Email him. No. Don't do that. Just. Ugh. Beka. WHY. Otabek had replied back with a string of question marks. Yuri, after a series of multiple key mashes and gratuitous use of the middle finger emoji, finally sent Otabek a picture of himself shirtless and panting and pink all over. His mouth was hanging open, his tongue licking the left corner. The picture had ended at his hip bones, but the message under it was clear enough.

_This is your fault._

Otabek had nearly fallen to the floor in surprise. He'd stared at the picture for five minutes, taking in the details like Yuri's peaked nipples and the way a lock of hair was sticking to his cheek. Yuri, clearly out of patience, had texted a single word.

_BEKA_.

It had taken Otabek another two minutes to type a reply. His hands were shaking, and he kept having to backspace.

_I have no problem with this._

Since then, they'd talked about it some. Yes, Yuri has a thing for Otabek. Yes, Otabek returns the sentiment. Yeah, maybe they should try and date, but when to start and _where_? Half the reason for Otabek's current visit is to figure out the details, but in the three days he's been In Russia, they haven't gotten to it. They've been skating and listening to music and talking like always; no awkward moment to slip to the topic they've both been thinking about. 

Otabek looks at his hands again while Yuri continues to look away. "Yura," he says quietly. 

"I was watching you because I wanted to see your step sequence. It's messy," Yuri says, still looking away.

"No, it's not," Otabek replies. He wants to reach out and take Yuri's hand, but it's not the right time. He looks at the gloves again. "When did you learn to crochet?"

"During last season. Mila taught me at competitions."

"I don't remember seeing you do it."

"I didn't do it at competitions with you."

"Why not?"

 

Yuri looks at him then, frustrated. His hands are balling into fists. "Because I like _watching you _, Beka."__

__Otabek takes in a breath that's shaky on the edges. Maybe this _is_ the right time. He reaches out and touches Yuri's hand. Yuri grips it too tightly but doesn't seem to care. Otabek doesn't care either. "Do you want to watch me tonight?" It sounds cheesy to Otabek, but he doesn't know how else to ask._ _

__Yuri grits his teeth, his jaw clenching. "No," he mutters._ _

__Otabek looks down as Yuri curls a hand in his shirt, pulling him a tiny bit closer. "Do you want--"_ _

__"I want to kiss you," Yuri says. "I want to have sex with you. I want to be your boyfriend."_ _

__"Agreed." Otabek reaches up with his free hand and covers Yuri's hand on his chest. "I guess that takes care of that conversation we needed to have."_ _

__"Good." Yuri releases Otabek's shirt but doesn't drop his hand. "I'll make you a hat tomorrow."_ _

__Otabek feels like he's being claimed. It makes him smile. He reaches out and straightens Yuri's collar, pressing his thumb into the hollow of his throat just to touch him. "Can I have it in black?"_ _

__"You are so boring," Yuri says. He smiles. "But sure. Whatever." He glances over his shoulder, then turns back and kisses Otabek quickly on the cheek. "Your step sequence is a disaster."_ _

__Otabek shakes his head and lets him escape, watching him walk to the rink and take off his blade guards. His hands are warm, and the rest of him feels the same. Maybe he doesn't need his jacket. Maybe he just needs Yuri._ _

**Author's Note:**

> For an anon on tumblr answering my request for prompts. They wanted a secret skill, and I am all about Yuri crocheting.


End file.
